Cuckoo Clock Love
by TwitchyEars007
Summary: Everything was hers for the taking. Hearts, eyes, houses, bedrooms like these. But tiny things, such as conversation and kisses, began to become just part of a routine. Bella spectulates life with the perspective Edward promised her years ago. Post-BD


Extra points if you can tell me what the title means!

Hope everyone enjoys this.

* * *

This house is always cold, Bella thought indolently. But of course it wasn't. It was never anything but perfect.

The baby never cried. Although she was never really a baby.

Nessie slept soundly from the other room. Bella knew because she could hear, even on the other side of the house. Tiny breaths in and out of her open mouth, the whisper of rustling dress as her chest moved, the imperceptible iotas of air against the couch Nessie slept on with each exhale.

It took too much for Bella to rouse herself from the deep cushions of the bed. Rolls of silk slipped off her smooth skin. She didn't notice anymore.

A silver mirror, twisted with intricate effeminate coils of roses and delicate swirls, reflected light into the dusty air. Bella padded across the wood paneled floor, the soundless patter of her toes on the grains hardly registering into her subconscious mind.

Her naked body was glorious. Gods would be jealous. Paler than the moon, smoother than the slow river, the soft curves of her features rolled even in absolute stillness. Curls of deep, rich, lustrous brunette hair bounced at her breasts, so much more full and beautiful than her human days. She remembered being shy, once…

Bella's perfect face tightened slightly. The closest edge of her eyes contracted, but no tears came. To have cold water again, to be warmer than something… to _be_ something… to have something.

Hiccups bounced Bella's beautiful breasts. Her tiny white ankles collapsed as she sunk to the ground, knees tied together, perfectly round fingernails clutching the sides of her picture-perfect oval face, the slow movement of her decline tossing roll after roll of toffee hair over her arms.

Stale sunlight fell on the mirror, reflecting the image back again.

To be pretty even when crying! What a gift.

"Honey, I'm home" echoed in the quiet cottage in the forest.

Cried the dimpled girl, "Daddy!"

"Where's mommy?"

"Sleeping."

Bella counted the footsteps as he neared the bedroom. Twenty six.

His hand touching the crystal doorknob, the bones of his wrist moving, the click, the silent swing.

Edward tossed one leg over the mattress and stroked her collarbone. "Darling," he cooed, a smirk in his teeth, "you look like a picture."

"Of what?" she asked quietly, her voice small and full of music.

Edward threw his head back and laughed heartily. "My little Bella! You're so funny." He tapped the tip of her nose.

She felt the muscles around her face contract for a smile habitually. The cogs began working again, and this routine began. "How was your day?"

"Good, good. Some young ladies stayed around to ask me questions after class, but they were all thinking how good I looked in this shirt. Don't worry, all I could think of was what good taste you have. Remember? You picked this out."

"I remember," she said, and never worried. After all,

"All I thought was, 'I'm sorry to mislead you, but I have a beautiful wife at home.' So, very subtly, I showed them my wedding band. After that they left. Humans never cease to amaze me!"

"I remember," Bella sighed.

"My love, is everything all right?" he asked, the exact amount of concern entering his voice.

Bella turned her face to his. The smallest dose of excitement danced in his amber eyes. She wondered if he was getting as bored of this as she was. For a long moment, Bella looked into his eyes. For all their clarity and beauty, they resembled the stale air in their house most.

"It's perfect," came tumbling out of her lips.

A smile returned to his mouth. "Just like you," he replied, leaning forward.

Bella thought how stupid he'd look if she didn't do anything. She met him halfway, lips brushing slightly. After all, it was just skin. In time it'd be as mundane as her naked chest, which his arm had been leaning on without noticing the whole time.

She could feel it creeping. How everything lost its touch, lost whatever made it sparkle. There was never any real conflicts to argue or plumbing to hire fixing or shirts to iron or diapers to change. He never forgot to put the seat back up, and she never had to worry about leaving hair in the sink.

Everything was hers for the taking. Hearts, eyes, houses, bedrooms like these. But these tiny things, such as conversation and kisses, began to become just part of a routine. Had she even wanted to speak just then? Could she even stop herself if she tried? Humanity was slipping further away with every day.

"I know," she whispered.


End file.
